"You," she said incoherently. "You…"
She took a swift step forward and struck at him with her open hand. His cheek stung with the slap. Instinctively he grasped her wrist and held it, but she struggled in his arms like a wildcat, wriggling and kicking at his shins.
"Oh!" she sobbed. "I–I hate you!"
"You break my heart," said the Saint. "I thought it was the dawn of love."
She took a lot of holding: her slim body was strongly built and her muscles were in excellent condition. In the struggle her hair had become disordered, and her breath came quickly between parted lips that were too close to his for serenity.
The Saint smiled and kissed her.
She stopped struggling. Her breasts were tight against him; her lips were moist and desirous under his. One of her arms slid behind his neck.
The kiss lasted for some time. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and moved her gently away.
"I'm sorry about that," he said. "I didn't really mean to force my vile attentions on you, but you asked for it."
"Did I?" she said.